by Susie Gayle
I close the door.
“Hey, relax,” she says. “You just went three shades paler.”
“What do you know?” I ask her carefully.
“Not much, to be honest. But remember, you and me tag-teamed that murder case of your friend. I was there. I know that Sammy used to played racquetball with Tom Savage, and I know that Savage didn’t pan out for the murder itself. So I figured he must be involved in some other way. Now you come in here, asking questions about Rachel Stein right after Mario Estes dies in Ezekiel Birnbaum’s place of business? Well, golly, Will, that’s the whole town council right there, isn’t it?”
God, how could I have been so stupid? Karen was my chauffeur while I was running around trying to find out who killed our friend Jerry. She didn’t hear everything, but apparently she heard enough to be suspicious.
“Have you told anyone?” I ask her.
“I don’t think I know enough to tell anyone. And I’m certainly not going to go out of my way to do Sammy, or you, any harm. But you can bet that I plan to turn over a few rocks… and I really hope you’re not involved in whatever this is, Will.” She stares at me evenly for a long moment and then adds, “Unless you want to just tell me right now and I can decide for myself.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”
“I understand. Good luck.”
“You might understand, but I don’t. What is possibly in this for you?” I can feel heat rising in my face and I try to quell my anger. Karen doesn’t have a dog in this fight; why would she even care?
She puts her hands out, palms up, as if it should be obvious. “This is my town, too, you know. If there’s something going on around here that’s not on the up-and-up, people deserve the truth.”
I don’t know when Karen decided to become such an upstanding citizen, but now’s not the time to throw around sarcasm. “Just… do me a favor, okay? If you find something out, come to me first? Will you at least do that for me?”
She hesitates, but eventually agrees. “Alright. I will. But you need to promise to be honest with me.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER 12
* * *
I leave the bank feeling far more disappointed than I had when I’d entered. Not only did I not really learn anything useful about Rachel Stein, and I’m no closer to figuring out what happened to Mario Estes, but now Karen, too, knows that something is afoot—and whether or not she’ll hold up her end of our verbal agreement remains to be seen. Regardless of if she’s actually changed, or if she’s now what I would loosely consider a friend, she did still betray me once before in a big way. I’d hate to think what would happen if she decided to do it again.
I get into my car and start the engine before I even notice the note. Pinned under the windshield wiper is yet another sticky note, folded on itself. I pluck it out and open it.
Now we’re 2-1.
That’s all it says. What does that mean? Is it two-to-one, like a score? I just sit in my car for a while, holding my head in my hand and thinking—because one thing I left out in the category of “things that are now worse than they were” is that there’s obviously another person in this thing that I’m unaware of.
I call Sarah. For a brief moment, while the line is ringing, I consider telling her everything, just spilling all the beans about Sammy and blackmail. Maybe I’d feel better. Maybe it would make it seem like we’re sharing this weight. But ultimately it wouldn’t do me any good, and it certainly wouldn’t do Sarah any good to implicate her just so that I feel better.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sarah.”
“What’s up? Are you on your way back?”
“Yeah, soon. I just, uh…” I can’t remember why I called her, other than just wanting to hear her voice and my fleeting notion of confessing.
“We’re still going to the council meeting tonight, right?” she asks. “Because we’ll have to close a little early if we’re both going.”
“Right, yeah.”
Wait a second. The town council.
2-1.
There are only three council members now. The note could be telling me that there’s only one member in opposition.
“Will?”
What if it was Ezekiel Birnbaum leaving me the notes? Trying to tell me secretly that he’s involved? That could explain his hostility towards me. He wouldn’t want to express it overtly, but if he thinks that I know about it, the way Tom Savage does…
“Will? Hello?” Sarah’s voice jars me out of my thoughts.
“Hey. Sorry. I’m here.”
“It doesn’t feel like that lately,” she says.
“I know. Again, sorry. Um… I’ll be back at the shop soon, okay?” I hang up and reach into my pocket for Leo’s business card.
“Hi, Leo, it’s Will Sullivan.”
“Will, hi. What can I do for you?”
“Listen… I know this might sound weird, but did Mario seem particularly stressed out lately? Did he mention anything to you?”
“Stressed out?” Leo repeats. “You mean other than his business failing and facing opposition from the town council at every turn?”
“Yeah, besides that—wait, what was the second thing you said?”
Leo sighs. “We should talk in private. I’m driving over to my dad’s house now. Can you meet me?”
***
Less than ten minutes later, I knock on the door to the Estes home, a two-story brick house with a tidy front yard. Leo answers and wordlessly lets me inside.
The first thing I notice is the strong scent of antiseptic. I must involuntarily wrinkle my nose, because Leo apologizes. “I know, it smells like a hospital in here. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, mostly because I can assume why.
We enter the living room, which has been made over to accommodate the older man lying in a bed where a sofa would ordinarily be. He looks aged beyond his years, thin, and frail. At his bedside is a small table with a digital clock and an assortment of prescription bottles; on the other side is a thin, steel pole with complex monitoring machinery mounted on it, the function of which I couldn’t begin to guess.
“Hospice came in and set all this up for us,” Leo tells me quietly. “It’s better for him to be at home to… convalesce.”
I nod, but don’t say anything, because I don’t know what to say. Then I notice that the painting from the manor house, the one I like, is hanging on the wall of the living room opposite the old man’s bed.
“You brought him the painting,” I comment.
“Yeah. It wasn’t just Mario’s favorite; it’s Dad’s favorite, too.” Leo shakes his head. “I told him that Mario brought it while he was sleeping. I might be the world’s worst son.”
“No, you’re not,” I reassure him.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen. I’ll make some coffee.”
While Leo busies himself preparing a pot, I lean against the countertop out of his way and listen.
“To answer your question, yes, Mario was very stressed lately,” he tells me. “It doesn’t look like it from the outside, but there’s a lot of turmoil in the town council right now. Mario was strongly opposed to all these revitalization propositions that Tom Savage keeps introducing. He thought that the town should be spending its money on infrastructure and job creation, not bankrupting itself to look prettier.”
“But Tom Savage has an ally, right? And I’m guessing it’s your boss, Birnbaum.”
Leo looks up at me with an eyebrow raised. “You don’t really follow local politics, do you, Will? You really should, as a business owner.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Ezekiel was always on Mario’s side. Tom Savage’s ally is Rachel Stein.”
Oh. Well, I guess at least now I know who’s leaving me those little love notes.
CHAPTER 13
* * *
“Wait,” I tell him, trying to wrap my head around all this. “So
if Mario and Ezekiel voted to block the propositions, wouldn’t it be a tied vote, at two-to-two?”
“Exactly,” Leo says. “And when that happens, it gets shelved for a month and they vote again at the next council meeting. So what happens when it keeps tying?”
I don’t know, so I shake my head.
“Nothing goes through,” Leo says. “That’s usually when people resort to creative things like bribery and extortion. In retaliation, Savage and Stein started voting against any development deal that Mario brought to the table, no matter what they were.”
“Wouldn’t that just create a giant impasse?” I ask.
“Yes—until now.”
2-1. I was just wrong on who the one is.
“Ezekiel has been telling me for months that something’s not right in the council,” Leo continues. “He just doesn’t know what.”
I do. Of course, I can’t tell Leo that, but it’s starting to look more and more like I’m right, and that Mario’s death was indeed the product of ambition.
Sometimes I hate being right.
“Leo… do you think that your brother’s death could have anything to do with all this?”
“If you had asked me that a year ago, before the thing with Sharon, I would have said no way. This is Seaview Rock. Things like that don’t happen here.” He turns away from me, toward the small window that looks out onto the backyard. “But now? Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”
We’re both silent for a long moment, until a faint voice floats to us, as if on a breeze.
“Leo?” His father calls out from the living room. “Leo?”
“Give me one minute.” I stand in the doorway between the kitchen and living room as he tends to his father. “Hey, Dad. What do you need? Some water? Here.” He takes a glass from the bedside table and guides a straw into the old man’s mouth.
“Thank you,” the old man says hoarsely. He leans his head back against the pillow, and then slowly asks, “Have you talked to Mario? When is he coming by?”
Leo glances briefly over his shoulder at me, and I can see how pained his expression is. “Soon, Dad. He’ll come soon.”
His father falls asleep in moments, and Leo walks me back to the foyer. “That’s all I can tell you. I don’t know any more than that.” He shakes his head. “I know he had a lot going on, but in the last three months before he was murdered, Mario was here only once. One time. I moved back in here last year, spent months taking care of Dad—and his oldest son couldn’t be bothered to visit.” He scoffs. “Such a shame.”
“He doesn’t have very long, does he?” I venture to ask.
“Days, at best. The doctors are surprised he’s hung on this long.”
“I hope you don’t stop painting,” I offer. “I hear it can be very therapeutic. Heck, maybe I’d even take one off your hands, if the price is right.”
“Thanks, Will, but I don’t plan on sticking around afterwards,” he tells me. “Seaview Rock has always been home, but after all this—my sister, my brother, my dad—I can’t stay here.”
“Where will you go?”
“My family owns a vacation house in North Carolina. It’s right on the beach. I plan to sell this place and move down there.”
“Sounds nice.” He opens the door for me and I step outside. “Oh, by the way, I know this is trivial, but Daylight Savings Time was two weeks ago.”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“The clock on your father’s bedside table. It’s an hour slow. We ‘sprang forward’ a couple weeks back.”
“Oh, right.” He smiles sheepishly. “With everything going on, I guess I forgot.”
“Yeah. Anyway, thanks for your help. I’ll call you if anything else comes up.”
“Please do.”
CHAPTER 14
* * *
The assembly room of the Seaview Rock town hall is set up with around three dozen folding chairs arranged in neat rows. By the time Sarah and I arrive, most of the seats are filled, but we find a couple of empty spots next to each other near the back row.
She squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you came.”
I didn’t tell Sarah about my meeting with Leo Estes or the information that he shared. I can’t—which complicates things, since I also can’t tell her why Ezekiel Birnbaum is no longer on my personal suspect list, or why Rachel Stein, the enigmatic third party (or fifth party?) is suddenly near the top.
The council meeting opens with the Pledge of Allegiance, followed by a lengthy moment of silence for Mario Estes, whose empty chair at the head of the hall feels like a bigger presence than any filled seat. On the dais, Ezekiel Birnbaum sits to my left, with Rachel Stein in the center and Tom Savage on the right.
Rachel Stein is a short woman, somewhat plump, around Birnbaum’s age. Her hair is a teased bubble of dyed blonde hair, and she wears a pink blazer with matching slacks and a pearl necklace. Her tight-lipped smile looks forced, reminding me of a teacher I once had that I suspect secretly hated children.
While the minutes of the previous month’s meeting are being read, I take the opportunity to scan the room. I notice with some dismay that Karen is present, seated a few rows in front of me and Sarah.
I also see the back of a very familiar head with slicked black hair—Sammy. He sits in the second row, positioned front-and-center in Tom Savage’s line of sight, which I assume is not by accident.
Tom Savage sits with his back straight in his beige suit as he reintroduces a new vote from a previous month’s stalemate. He explains to the townspeople present that this particular proposition would ban skateboarding along Main Street and other downtown areas.
“Before we put this to a vote,” Ezekiel Birnbaum speaks up, “I would like to remind council that the sidewalks exist for a reason. They’re for everyone’s use.”
Rachel Stein turns to him, that tight smile on her face, and says, “That may be, Mr. Birnbaum, but when such things become a public nuisance, it’s the responsibility of this council to act—”
“It’s just some kids, for god’s sake. It’s not like they’ve caused any damage…”
“All those in favor?” Tom Savage cuts him off. Naturally he and Stein vote for it, with Birnbaum being the sole opposition. He scoffs audibly as it passes.
Sarah leans close to me and whispers, “Those two always vote the same. With Mario Estes gone, there won’t be much they can’t push through.”
And so it goes—over the next thirty minutes, four previously-tied votes are reintroduced, and each one passes in turn, followed by eye-rolling and scowls from Birnbaum, who, even though he’s a brusque fellow, I’m starting to commiserate with.
“Wow,” Sarah says softly. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Occasionally I can’t help but look at Sammy; from my position behind him, he’d never see me staring, but he doesn’t move. He sits there, stoic, watching. I suppose that’s how a lot of corruption in government happens—quietly and systematically.
No one attending the meeting seems to find any fault with the passing of the proposals. I have to admit, they sound just fine when they’re read out loud—promotion of tourism, clean-up endeavors, reducing the cost of parking permits for residents, seemingly beneficial and innocuous things like that. But knowing that they’re the result of underhanded deeds makes me angry that people can be so complacent.
Eventually they open the floor for people in attendance to comment or complain about this or that, but truth be told I’m barely paying attention. I can’t help but think about Mario Estes’ motivations for being against them. What if all of these efforts did bankrupt our town? What if we’re enjoying these benefits and beautifications only to find later that they don’t actually improve our lives—or worse, do just the opposite?
A couple of times I stare down Rachel Stein, trying to catch her gaze, but she doesn’t even look at me, not once. By the end of the meeting, I’m starting to have doubts about whether
I’m right about her or not, and I decide I need to find out.
The meeting adjourns and those in attendance rise to leave. I keep my eye on Stein as she speaks quietly with a couple of local business owners.
“Oh, there’s Karen,” Sarah says. “I’m going to go say hi quick.”
“Sure,” I tell her, distracted. As she moves through the mass of people towards my ex-wife, I sidle up the aisle between the chairs and watch as Rachel Stein slips outside. In the parking lot, I keep a decently safe distance as she crosses to her car. Before she can start the engine, I hurry over and tap two knuckles against her window.
She whips her head toward me, startled. Then her eyes widen further and she shakes her head, no. I make the motion for her to roll down her window and again she shakes her head, more fervently this time.
Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then. I hurry around her car and pull on the door handle on the passenger side. It opens, so I slip into the seat and close the door behind me.
“What are you doing?!” she hisses.
“Listen to me for a second. I know it was you that’s been slipping me those notes—”
“We can’t be seen in public together!” she insists, looking all around.
“Ms. Stein—Rachel—whatever you think you know, forget it. I am not involved. Okay?” I speak slowly, hoping it’ll sink in.
She scoffs. “Savage told me all about you.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me that the barber cut you in on it as his little ‘insurance policy’ after Jerry Brahms died.”
“Insurance policy? What does that even mean?” I ask, exasperated.
“In case something would happen to him,” she says innocently.
